A Study in Blue
by TheStoryGoesOnForever
Summary: An AU of A Study in Pink. There are fragments missing from Amy Pond's life, adventures and faces she can't account for. She's haunted by a man in her dreams- a man with a bowtie. Then she meets Sherlock Holmes and everything slowly falls back into place.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: In this crossover fic, Amy is the John of the story. I know it says Amy/Sherlock, but there are other pairings in here. Don't want to give anything away! There will be some characters you recognise from both shows, but not how they're usually seen, so hopefully its interesting! Some of the dialogue is taken from A Study in Pink, but I think the characters make it different from the original and I think I've managed to put my own twist on the story. Huge thanks to Georgia for helping me write this! So, hope that all makes sense (it will do in later chapters) and enjoy! **

**October 12th 2010:**

**Amy:**

It was fear. Definitely fear that she felt. She woke up, the sweat dripping off her forehead. It had happened again. The same man, the strange madman in her dream, just laughing at her. Not even the reassurance that it was dream was enough to stop her seeing the psychiatrist. She sat in the chair, opposite her doctor, eyes darting around, trying to find something to focus on. She didn't want to talk about him. It scared her, and she wasn't afraid to admit it. Her doctor was talking again.

"Amy, you do know that this man isn't real?"

"How can you be sure?"

"Amy-"

"No, you can't be sure. You don't have him laughing at you in your dreams every night, the same mechanical laughter, over and over again. It sounds so real, and I can see him, he looks real, almost familiar. And you would know how what its like if you had him in your dreams, making you wake up drenched in your own sweat, sheets tangled around you from trying to escape him. He's real, he has to be."

"Amy I know this is hard. But you have to help yourself. How's your blog going?"

"Yeah, fine. Good, even."

"You haven't written a word have you?"

"You just wrote 'still has trust issues'"

"And you can read my writing upside down. See what I mean?"

Amy just sat there.

"Amy, you've been through something terrible. Left alone on the streets, found by the police at 3 in the morning, shaken and scared. You've been through a lot this past year and it's going to take you a while to adjust to normal life. So writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help."

Amy paused. Then gave a small sigh. "Nothing happens to me."

The psychiatrist stared deeply at her. Her stare penetrated her eyes. "Amy, I will ask you once more, I ask you once more. Cast your mind back to the night we found you."

She closed her eyes. She concentrated and focused. She really focused. She was going to try this time. "There was a fight. Between a decision. To leave me. I think it got worse after I left. I'm not sure.' She clenched her fists. She couldn't try any harder. "The man, the Laughing Man was there. He wanted me to leave."

"Describe the men Amy."

"Erm, one had a pinstripe suit and a tie, the other a tweed suit and a bowtie. I can't remember the face. I can't remember anything."

_Amelia was right. Even if the psychiatrist didn't believe her. And there was indeed a fight. And it was more serious than dear Amy thought._

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

_****_**A/N: This is the back story to everything that will happen in the fic. Oh, I forgot to mention that there's no Rory. Its not because I hate him, I actually love him, but it doesn't fit the story. **

_**One year earlier: **_

_The man in the pinstriped suit stared at the person across the console at him. "Why did you do that?" _

_The other just shrugged. "She forgot everything, except her name and basic stuff. We can't keep her; she would need the whole story re-telling. And we both know it's a long story." The man in the suit and tie was angered by these words. _

"_So you thought you'd just leave her there, scared, alone, homeless and with no idea who or where she is! What kind of a solution is that?"_

"_A reasonable one"' the man in the tweed and bowtie replied. "I mean she can start a whole new life, forgetting the tragedy she endured here."_

"_And forget her own brother? He's lost among the stars somewhere! And she will never know he existed! Don't you know you've carved a hole in her where her life used to be?" The man in the tie was fuming by this point. He walked over to the doors to the TARDIS and opened one then gestured down. They were flying over London._

"_We've been gone 5 minutes, can you see her? No. She's gone now. She's lost and confused because of you."_

"_It's not my fault! Long expose to the cracks would have this effect sooner or later! It was our decision to let her stay because we're so selfish and cant bare to be alone!" The man in the tweed was putting up a fight. The other man walked away from the door, leaving it open. _

"_Look out of that door. Look. She's down there. We don't know where so how the hell could she know?" He spun the tweed clothed man and shoved him towards the door. That was enough for the tweed clad man. He spun on his heel and delivered a clean right hook to the other man's cheek._

"_'Do you not think I cared enough for her? IT KILLED ME TO LEAVE HER BUT SHES BETTER OFF WITHOUT US. SOMEONE WILL FIND HER AND CARE FOR HER BETTER THAN BOTH OF US."_

_At that the two men jumped on each other in an all-out brawl. Their hands locked on the others shoulders. _

"_We both lost someone tonight; you can just leave them there defenceless what happened to offering a chance?" The man in the pinstriped suit questioned angrily._

"_She doesn't need a chance; she has a better life ahead of her. Do you not think I was hurt leaving her? She is better without us though, we both said so!" the man in the tweed replied._

_The other man gave an angry yell and propelled the other man he held to the open door, they were on the edge. On the edge of the next big adventure; death and pain_

"_I had to let her go, I regret it already but it was for her. For Amelia. AND IT KILLS ME INSIDE!" The tweed coated man yelled. The other man gave a final push, and whether it was out of shock or just mercy, the tweed man let go of the other as he fell. The man in the tie looked for a second and shut the door, and sank to the floor, head in his hands. It was never meant to go that far._

_On the other side of the door, he was falling, the air rushed in his ears. The man in the tweed was falling. The wind gripped his suit but it was no use, he continued to slip through the fingers of the air around him. This was it. He looked to the stars and vowed, whether it was in the next life or not, he vowed revenge on that man. The man that had caused his whole world to fall, and him along with it.__  
__Then there was nothing. Nothing.__  
__Then a dull thud as he hit a surface._

_Meanwhile on the ground, a shivering figure was noticeable sat on the curb near a bus stop; the silhouette of a red headed girl was visible. "You lost?" a kind stranger asked, with a hint of an Irish accent._

"_I don't know," replied the girl. _

"_Well what's your name?" he asked._

"_I-I don't know." The man looked at the girl, he pitied her. This wasn't a drunk no mark like he'd seen before, this was a poor woman with no idea who she was, and she was genuinely terrified. Despite her condition, she was beautiful. He almost felt sympathy. He held out a hand, "Come on, I'll take you somewhere nice and warm, then we can talk."_

_She took his hand. "Amelia," she whispered. _

"_Huh?" said the man. _

"_I think my name's Amelia."_

"_'Why that's a beautiful name." smiled the man. And with that he led her down the street to find somewhere for here to stay. "My names James, James Moriarty."_

**So two Doctors! The mind races does it not? But they will both play a key part in the story, both going down different paths.**

**Please review! **_  
_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Introducing a very familiar character, though she isn't what you'd expect. And just to clarify, John Smith is the Eleventh Doctor. I think they'll get on just fine…**

_**ROSE:**_

_A thud landed on the warehouse roof. She had just started prepping the pills. She lay down her tools and peeled off her gloves. She then started up the stairs towards the roof._

_5 flights of stairs later she was at the roof entrance. She drew her M19 11 something her boss insisted she carry at all times. She held the pistol ready in her left hand and opened the door cautiously._

_And there lay a peculiar sight. A man fully dressed in a tweed suit and bowtie lay on her roof, unconscious. She heard a groan, he was coming around. She cocked her gun and aimed it. She had no idea what was going on here. The man sat up slowly._

"_Oh...Hello! Mind telling me where I am?' he enquired with a slightly shaky voice. _

"_Mind telling me who the hell you are and how you got on this roof?" she retorted. _

"_Ah well yes...who am I? I…I think my name is John Smith. As for what I'm doing here, I guess I fell onto the roof from up there. Nasty fall."_

_She kept her gun drawn and loaded. "I'm...Rose. I work here. Do you mind coming down with me, but you'll have to go in front...seeing as you might still pose a threat." She twitched the gun to show what she meant._

"_Oh yes, well of course." He stood up and stumbled to the door._

_She led the strange man down 4 flights of stairs this time, not 5, there was no way she was letting him see those pills. They were the centre of the whole plan. _

"_Just step into this room and wait there please. I need to make a call," Rose smiled unconvincingly to the man. She stepped out of the room and into the corridor. She pressed 1 on her speed dial. She held to cold phones surface to her cheek. _

"_Sir, we have an issue...there was a man on the roof by the name of John Smith, he doesn't seem to be aware of where he is and he made no reference to any family or friends when I took him to the office. What shall I do?"_

_There was a murmur the other end of the phone, he was thinking what to do. "Right, OK I'll get that sorted. I won't tell him the whole plot, but I can get him sorted, who knows, he may be some use." With that Rose pressed the End button on her phone and ended the call. She returned to James the other side of the door._

"_Right well my employer has plenty of flats in this area, I can set you up with one and you can stay there. You'll work over here during the day to earn your keep, as it were. A car will be sent at 9:30am sharp. Be ready," She paused "Oh and are there some clothes that aren't...tweed...you can wear?"_

_John Smith on nodded. She wanted to get rid of him so she could finish her work for the night. "Right well...there's a cab waiting outside to take you home. Don't wait up; I'm on the night shift." The sooner she finished the sooner she could see her employer, and oh how she loved her employer._

**January 28th 2011:**

**Lestrade:**

"The body of Beth Davenport, junior minister for transport was found late last night at a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Philemore. In light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked"

The 3rd one. The cameras were flashing, the press were raving about it. What a nightmare. 3 serial suicides in 3 months. He was glad Sally was talking; he wouldn't have kept his nerve.

"The investigation is on going but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."

For the love of God. There were always so many questions. Thanks Sally. Here we go another pointless question.

"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?"

He would go on the only information he knew. "Well they all took the same poison. They were all found in places they had no reason to be. None of them had shown and prior indication-" He was cut off.

"But you can't have serial suicides!"

"Well apparently you can!" God this was tedious.

Another person spoke up. "But these people; there's nothing that connects them?"

"There's no link we've found yet but we're looking for it, there has to be one!" Then all the phones bleeped, including his. Everyone checked.

_WRONG!_

He was going to kill that man. Sally sprung to the defence. "If you've all got text messages please ignore them!"

That same journalist. "But it just says wrong!"

"Well, just ignore that! If there are no more questions for DI Lestrade I'm going to bring this session to an end." He hoped that was the end.

"But if they're suicides what are you investigating?" Apparently not.

He was panicking now. "Well as I say, umm, these suicides are clearly linked." He faltered. "But it's an unusual situation; we've got our best team out investigating." The phones bleeped again.

_WRONG!_

"Just one more question!"

"Is there any chance that these are murders and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"

He was fed up with the press. "I know you like writing about these, but these are clearly suicides, we know the difference. The poison was clearly self-administered!"

"Yes but if they are murders how do people keep themselves safe?"

"Well don't commit suicide!" he said, hopefully not visibly annoyed.

Sally whispered to him. "Daily Mail"

Crap. Quick escape. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people but what everyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We're all as safe as we want to be." Not a bad answer, he thought.

_WRONG!_

But then another text, only to him. _You know where to find me- SH. _He was at his wits end, so he just uttered a thank you and walked out.

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry to all you Jack Harkness fans, but he won't be playing a very big part in this, but I just love him so much I had to include him! This is quite a long chapter, but hopefully you'll enjoy it and stick with the story :) **

**Amy:**

She loved the park, or at least she had done. It was hard, stepping outside and walking around trying to be normal, when all she could see in her minds eye was the face of the laughing man. She carried on through the park.

"Amy!"

She didn't stop.

"Amy Pond!" She turned around to see who had called her. She didn't recognise him, but the American accent sounded vaguely familiar.

"It's Harkness! Jack Harkness!"

That's it. "Yep, sorry! Of course," she shook his hand.

"I heard you were travelling, what happened?"

"I just stopped," she said bluntly. Mainly, it was because she couldn't remember why she stopped or what she was doing on her travels. But she had been travelling, that was nice to know.

Ten minutes later they were sat drinking coffee. "So what do you do now?"

"Oh I teach Chemistry at one of the universities around here. What about you? Trying to find yourself a place?"

"Nah, I can't afford London," she said.

"Why don't you get a flat share?"

"Yeah," she snorted. "Who would want me as a flat mate?"

Jack laughed. "What?" she asked confused.

"Well, you're the second person to tell me that today!"

She was intrigued. "Who was the first?"

**Sherlock:**

He unzipped the body bag and sniffed. The smell of a dead body, something to satisfy his boredom. "How fresh?" he asked.

"Just in," Molly said. "Natural causes aged 67. He used to work here, I knew him. He was nice." He bypassed this. How he hated sympathy.

"Fine," he said. "We'll start with the riding crop."

Five minutes later he was finished. It had been tedious.

"Bad day was it?" Molly laughed. She laughed far too much for his liking.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes, a man's alibi depends on it," he said quickly. What was the point in talking slowly? It wasted time. "Text me."

Molly paused, but he didn't look up. "Listen, I was wondering, maybe later when you've finished-"

She was talking slowly; he was already bored so he cut her off. "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

She just opened her mouth and then closed it. He hated people that paused. It meant they weren't going to say anything of importance. "I refreshed it a bit."

He just stared at her, confused. "You were saying?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." The entire wait just for that.

"Yes, black, two sugars, I'll be upstairs if you need me," and he was off there was no point in staying longer than he needed to.

He dropped another drop of solution into the dish, just as he heard the door open. He looked up to see Jack walk in, another person by his side. She had red hair that flowed past her shoulders. She was obviously confident in her appearance, as she was wearing a short black skirt, a red top and a small black leather jacket. She was beautiful, there was no denying, but he wasn't interested like that, he just observed the facts. She wasn't impressed by the lab that was easy to see. She had obviously seen more impressive sights but by the look in her eyes it seemed she either wished to forget about them, or she had genuinely forgotten. She had a different aura about her, nothing he had really seen before. He was interested.

"Bit different from my day," she said, speaking in a Scottish accent. It wasn't as profound as other Scottish accents, indicating she had lived in England for most of her life, but long enough in Scotland for the accent to stay. Not many women interested him, but she drew his attention.

"Jack, can I borrow your phone, mine's got no signal."

Jack sighed. "What's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text," he answered simply.

"Well it's in my coat!"

"Here," the young woman said. "Borrow mine!"

Sherlock smiled. "Oh thank you."

He went to take the phone. "Amy Pond, an old friend of mine from school," Jack said.

He started texting. "Amy or Amelia?" he asked simply. There was a long pause.

"I'm sorry?"

"What's your name? Amy or Amelia?"

"I, umm, I don't-"

She was cut off by Molly entering the room. "Ah Molly! Coffee, thank you." He noticed. "What happened to the lipstick?" He saw Amy smirk out the corner of his eye.

"It wasn't working for me," Molly said. He took the coffee and turned away.

"Really? I thought it was nice, your mouth looks too small now." He took a sip of his coffee as Molly left. "How do you feel about the violin?"

"I'm sorry?" She seemed to say that a lot.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking; sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." He flashed a quick smile.

She turned to Jack. "You told him about me?" He went back to studying the microscope.

"Not a word," Jack smirked.

"Then who said anything about flat mates?" she questioned.

"I did," Sherlock said, putting his coat on. "Told Jack this morning that I must be a hard person to find a flat mate for and now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend who looks as if she's forgotten something important. Wasn't a difficult leap." He pulled his scarf around his neck.

"What did you mean by Amy or Amelia," she asked, her voice stern, probably from years of speaking to people in the same tone he guessed. Boring question though, so he moved on.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in Central London, together we should be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening, 7 o'clock. Sorry got to dash; I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." She gave him an odd look as he moved passed her.

"Is that it?" He took his hand of the door handle. Another boring question.

"Is that what?"

"Well, it's a bit suspicious. We've only just met and we're going to look at a flat."

"Problem?"

"Well, we don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting and I don't even know your name!" she said, obviously concerned and annoyed.

"I know that you're an old friend of Jacks, been travelling around, not sure where. Your phone is well used, meaning you like to keep in touch, but it hasn't been used for a few weeks now, meaning you've fallen out or lost touch with someone special to you. You've got a friend that is or was worried about you but you won't go to him because you don't like him anymore or you've forgotten him. You're obviously confused, not sure where you've been, your aura is different. You haven't slept in days, possibly nightmares from the small sweat line of your forehead. You want to seem self confident, only explanation for your choice of clothes. That's enough to be going on with don't you think?"

She just looked at him, mouth open. It wasn't that it was unobvious, the things he had just said. He only observed the facts. He walked out of the door, but leant back in.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes, the address is 221B Baker Street," he said, giving her a wink and walking out of the door.

**A/N: Ah, Sherlock, as socially eloquent as ever. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and we will get onto more Rose and 11 bits in the near future. Please review! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Yet introducing another character people should recognise! Time to go the infamous 221B Baker Street….**

**Amy:**

That had been…interesting. He had known stuff even she wasn't sure of. How could he have known she was forgetting someone? How could he know about the nightmares? He was interesting that was sure. Strange and a bit manic, but interesting. And not bad looking either, but he didn't seem that sort of man. She sat down on her bed and took out her phone. She wondered what that man, Sherlock, had been texting. _If brother has green ladder, arrest brother._ What did that even mean? She opened her laptop and searched about this man, this strange man that had funny hair and talked fast. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

**January 29th 2011:**

**Amy:**

"So, looks like a nice place. We'll never afford it."

"Nonsense," Sherlock said. He had looked annoyed that she had been late, but she had no sleep again, thanks to her nightmare man.

"That shirt looks good on you," she said, seeing the shade of purple that coloured his shirt. His rather tight shirt, she thought to himself. He didn't even go red.

"Thank you," he said, before continuing. "Well, I know the landlady, Jackie Prentice. Nice enough lady, she should give us a discount. I helped her with her husband who was going to be executed."

Amy raised her eyebrow. "What you saved him?"

Sherlock turned to her and smiled. He had a nice smile, she noticed. "Oh no. I ensured it," he said and opened the door. "Jackie!"

A cheerful looking woman of about 50 came down the stairs and hugged Sherlock. "Jackie, this is Amelia Pond."

She shook Jackie's hand. "It's Amy," she said, feeling a bit annoyed that Sherlock couldn't remember her name when he only met her the day before. They walked up the stairs and Sherlock opened the door to the flat. Amy walked in. It wasn't exactly small, but it had a big bookshelf, a fireplace and mirror on one wall, a sofa against the other and two large windows looking out onto Baker Street. The kitchen was joined to the living room, which was quite convenient. She liked it, it felt homely, more than her one room flat that she could barely afford.

"Well this is nice isn't it?" said Sherlock.

"Yeah, yeah, very nice. I mean, even better once we get all the rubbish cleaned out." Sherlock just stared at her. "Oh," was all she could say.

Sherlock turned a slight shade of red and went around putting books away. "Well, yeah I can tidy up a bit…"

She felt slightly bad, making the assumption that it wasn't his stuff. "No, it's fine, sorry." He immediately stopped dithering, as Jackie walked in through the door.

"What do you think then Amy?" she asked. "There's another flat upstairs if you'll need two bedrooms."

Amy looked over at Sherlock who looked away quickly. "I think it would be best, Mrs. Prentice." Jackie went into the kitchen, while Sherlock opened his laptop. Amy sunk down into one of the armchairs. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it all. Here was this strange, intelligent and rather handsome man who knew more about her than she did and she was considering living in the same house as him. She distracted herself from her thoughts. "I looked you up on the internet last night. I found your website, 'The Science of Deduction'."

Sherlock practically beamed. "What did you think?"

Amy gave a small laugh leaving Sherlock looking confused. "You said you could identify a software designer by the colour of his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I can also tell that you've suffered substantial memory loss, have nightmares almost every night, you've forgotten someone important and that you used to travel with them." There was a long pause. "Well, was I right?"

She looked down at the floor, unexplained tears stinging her eyes. Her voice came out, barely a whisper, her lips quivering. "I don't know."

**A/N: Hope you liked the ending and the story so far! Please review, it keeps me updating :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Huge thanks to the people that have reviewed and favourited this story! Hope you like it so far! **

**Sherlock:**

This wasn't meant to happen. Usually, the person would look impressed or angry but not this time. Amelia was on the verge of tears, and he didn't know what to do. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. He thought emotions got in the way of important stuff but he couldn't help but feel sorry for the young woman.

She just sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's fine, it's not your fault," she said. Jackie walked back in the room, newspaper in hand. Sherlock looked out of the window. "Thought these suicides would be right up your street Sherlock! Three suicides in quick succession!" He cut her off.

"Four," he said, seeing the police car pull up outside. "There's been a fourth but this time it's different." Lestrade came bounding up the stairs.

"You know how they never leave notes? Well this one did. We need your help."

"Who's on forensics?"

"Anderson."

Damn. He hated Anderson. "Anderson won't work with me. I need a partner though."

"Will you come?"

"I'll be right behind," he said. A note; something different. He liked different. Lestrade walked out of the room and back to the police car. Sherlock just let out a big laugh. "Yes! Brilliant! Four suicides and now a note! Oh this is Christmas!" He ignored the confused look on Amelia's face. "Jackie, I'm going to be late, might need some food!"

"I'm your landlady not your bloody housekeeper!"

"Anything cold will do! Amelia, make a cup of tea, settle in, and don't wait up!" he walked out of the door. He stopped outside the door. He heard Jackie talking to Amelia. Amelia Pond, the girl who didn't make sense. He needed to find more about her, he was interested in her. There was sparkle in her eyes that was still there despite the obvious torment she had been through. She was tough and determined. He liked her. He turned back into the flat, seeing Amelia studying the newspaper. She looked around.

"You're different," he said. "But you're a good different. You're determined and intelligent. And yes, I can tell all this just by your eyes. You have something them that reveals hidden and forgotten pasts. You've seen some terrible things, Amelia Pond."

She just stared at him. "It's Amy. And yes, I suppose I must have."

"Want to see some more?"

She gave him a big grin. He offered her his hand which she took and he led her out of the door.

"Okay, you've got questions," he said. They were sat in the back of the taxi on their way to the crime scene. Amelia was looking out of the window, but her brow was furrowed in the window's reflection.

"Yeah. Where are we going?" she asked, not turning around.

Boring question. "Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?" she asked, turning around to look at him this time.

"What do you think?" he asked, a quick smile flashing over his face.

"I'd say some sort of private detective but the police don't go to private detectives do they?"

He chuckled. "I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job.

Amelia laughed. "What does that mean?"

Surely it was obvious? "It means whenever the police are out of their depth — which is always — they consult me."

Amelia raised her eyebrow. "The police don't consult amateurs," she said giving him an almost flirtatious smile.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said "Amy or Amelia?" You looked surprised."

Amelia's smile faltered. "Yes. How _did_ you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your accent, Scottish, obviously. But there's a hint of English there indicating that you've lived in England for a long time, but not long enough to loose your accent. This means you must have been travelling, but not staying in one place long enough to loose your accent. You have a sweat line at the top of your forehead, bags under your eyes, meaning you don't get much sleep, so nightmares, no other explanation for the sweat. Your therapist can't explain your dreams, which is why indications of stress aren't eradicated. You feel sad for no apparent reason, unable to contain all your emotions. However, you put on a brave face, telling people its okay, when actually it isn't. You don't want to seem vulnerable."

"You said I had a therapist."

"You don't sleep for days on end and have nightmares. Of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your friend. Your phone gave me the first clue. You barely use it, like you've forgotten someone important that you should stay in contact with. This troubles you, which is why it's not used. Yet you always carry it around with you, so it indicates you want security, something you used to have. The look in your eyes when you drift off told me that you can't remember something or someone, but it's a deep look, indicating something personal and emotional; a person then. You didn't choose to forget this person, and you don't sleep well meaning you dream about this man. But the dream isn't vivid enough for you to totally remember who they are. You were right."

Amelia looked shocked. "_I_ was right? Right about what?"

He smiled. "The police don't consult amateurs."

There was a long pause.

"That was amazing."

Sherlock didn't even smile. "You think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary. Just impossible."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?" Amelia asked.

"Piss off!" Amelia started laughing and soon Sherlock couldn't help himself and joined in with her. Here was a person that finally accepted who he was and was amazed at what he did. He was definitely going to keep Amelia Pond with her Nightmare Man safe.

**A/N: So I don't know if people have figured out who Amy dreams about, but it might be a bit obvious. Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please review! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and for favouriting the story! So sorry I haven't updated, I've had exams. I'll try and update quicker promise!**

**Amy:****  
**The cab pulled into a small cul-de-sac where about half a dozen police cars and an ambulance were; despite the fact they probably didn't need one. They exited the cab silently and she assessed the area while Sherlock paid the cabbie. It was a quiet area; a tall shabby looking house at the end of the street seemed to be the epicentre of the whole thing. The reason for all the commotion was quite simple: another suicide. The difference? This one left a note.

**Sherlock: ****  
**A-HA! A note! This was brilliant. He had something to do, something to solve! He ran up behind Amelia and stood with her as they looked on at the scene, it was chaotic, but only on the outside. On the inside he suspected only few people were there and even fewer allowed to see the body. This he liked. He liked to have space to work.

"What am I even doing here?" Amy asked him. "Seriously, I'm not even a police officer!"

"Relax, you'll be fine," Sherlock said.

"Hello freak," he heard Sally shout as he walked up to her.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," he said, ignoring her.

"Why?" she sneered.

"I was invited," he said, seeing that Amy was looking at them both with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well do you know what I think?" Sally asked.

"Always Sally," he said, walking under the tape. "Even though you didn't make it home last night."

Sally stopped Amy as she approached the tape. "Who's this?"

"Colleague of mine," he replied quickly. He really didn't have time to waste with Sally. "Amelia Pond, Sergeant Sally Donovan."

"It's Amy," he heard her say, not really paying much attention.

"A colleague? Since when do you have colleagues?" Sally said. "Did he just follow you home?" she asked Amy.

Sherlock was about to say something when Amy spoke up. "His names Sherlock, not 'freak' okay? And he didn't follow me home, he's a nice guy and for your information we live together. He is an amazing man, so don't make him feel bad just because you can't be a clever as he is." He was slightly taken aback by what she had just said, looking at her with a look of shock but pleased someone was happy to stand up for him.

He held up the tape for Amy, who stepped under it, following him to the door of the house. He saw Anderson walk out of it. "Ah, Anderson, great to see you again."

"It's a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated, are we clear on that?" Anderson told him. Sherlock really detested Anderson.

"Is your wife away for long?"

"Oh don't start," Anderson sneered. "Somebody told you that."

"No, your deodorant told me that," Sherlock said. He thought it was obvious.

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men!"

"Well of course it's for men, I'm wearing it!"

"So is Sergeant Donovan." He heard Amy give a small laugh behind him. "Oh I think it just vaporised, may I go in?"

"Now look, whatever you're trying to imply!" Anderson said, but Sherlock cut him off.

"I'm not implying anything! I'm sure Sally just came round for a cup of tea and a nice chat," he said, walking into the building.

"Yeah and just happened to scrub his floors, by the state of her knees," he heard Amelia mutter. He smirked to himself, walking into the room occupied by Lestrade.

"Who's this?" he asked, looking at Amelia.

"She's with me," he said quickly. He was itching to see this, and didn't want any pointless questions being asked. "Put one of those on," he said to Amelia, pointing to the overcoat.

**Amy:**

"But who is she?" she heard the Inspector ask.

"Er, hello! Right here," she said, nettled. "I'm with him and if you've got an issue with me being here, then just say and I'll leave, or I could help you solve this case," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. He turned away, to lead the three of them upstairs. She felt someone grab her arm. Turning, she saw a young woman, blonde hair a little shorter than herself.

"Don't trust him," the woman said. "Sherlock Holmes. One day we'll standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one to have put it there." Amy narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah, I think I'll make my own choice thanks," she said, wrenching her arm out of the woman's grip, rushing upstairs after Lestrade and Sherlock, catching the end of what Lestrade was saying.

"Her name's Melody Williams according to her credit cards, we're running them now for contact details," Lestrade was saying. "Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

Amy felt a small lump rise in her throat at the thought of finding a dead body. Just to open the door, and see a dead body, a real body would be terrifying. She saw Sherlock walk into the room and she hesitantly followed.

On the floor was Melody Williams, dressed in pink. There was no blood, no murder weapon anywhere. She was just _there_. She could have been asleep. Amy looked up at the ceiling, not really wanting to stare.

"Shut up." She looked at Sherlock.

"I didn't say anything," Lestrade said.

"You were thinking, it's annoying," Sherlock replied straight off. Amy gave a small laugh, then remembered where she was and went back to being silent.

**Sherlock:**

He took a couple of steps closer towards the body. He noticed the note straight away: Rache. German for revenge? No, that couldn't be right. He looked at her hand; the pink nails had scuff marks there, showing she was left handed. He turned back to the note, flicking through a list of names, until he got to one that could fit; Rachel. He bent down, touching the pink coat, droplets of water gathering on his glove. The umbrella however was dry.

Her jewellery was clean, except for the ring on her finger. It was scuffed, old. It was never cleaned, showing she was married, but unhappily for what must have been ten years at least.

He could feel Lestrade and Amelia watching him, waiting for him to say something. He took the ring off the woman's finger, noticing how clean and shiny it was on the inside.

He stood up, taking the gloves off. "What have you got?" Lestrade asked him.

"Not much," he replied with a coy smirk. He heard footsteps on the landing and then the annoying voice of Anderson coming from the door.

"She's German," he said. "Rache, German for 'revenge', she could be trying-"

"Yes thank you for your input," Sherlock said, closing the door on him, making Amelia laugh. He scrolled through his phone, looking for more details.

"She's not German, but she's from out of town, intending to stay for one night, before returning home to Cardiff," he reeled off. "Amelia what do you think?"

"What? Me?"

"Yes, there's no one else called Amelia in here," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"We have a whole team outside," Lestrade said.

Before Sherlock had a chance to speak, Amelia did. "Listen, I think I can give it a go, yeah?"

"You need us," Sherlock said to Lestrade. "Amelia?" Lestrade exited the room, and the two walked over to the body.

"What the hell am I doing here?" Amelia hissed.

"Helping me make a point."

"I'm supposed to help you pay the rent!"

"Yeah, well this is more fun!"

"Fun? There's a dead woman lying here!"

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper," Sherlock said with a cock of his head. Amelia glared at him as Lestrade walked back in the room.

**Amy:**

She didn't really know what she was doing, but she'd watched enough police dramas in her time to know what to do. She bent her head, lifting the woman's hand, checking for a pulse, even though there wasn't one. There was something else, something about how she died.

"Asphyxiation," she said, shrugging. "Choked on her own vomit. She doesn't smell like she's been drinking though."

"You've read the papers, you know what it is," Sherlock said looking her in the eye.

"What she's one of the suicides?"

"I need everything you've got!" Lestrade said. She saw Sherlock stand up.

"She's in her late thirties, professional woman going by her clothes, I'm guessing something in the media going by the alarming shade of pink," he said, Amy snorting. "Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night judging by the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?"

"Yes, suitcase. She's been married for around ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, none of them knowing she was married."

"Oh if you're just making this up!" Lestrade said. Amy looked back at Sherlock who looked irritated, pacing.

"Her wedding ring! Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her ring. It's shiny on the inside though, showing the only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. She doesn't need to remove it though, not in her line of work, so who does she remove it for? Not just one person, that'd be too difficult to keep up the pretence, so more likely a string of them."

Amy's mouth was open in slight awe at this man. He was simply brilliant. "That's fantastic!"

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, its obvious."

"It isn't to me," Amy muttered.

"Dear God, what must it be like in your tiny little brains, it must be so dull," Sherlock said, Amy smacking him on the arm.

"Rude! Go on, how did you know?"

Sherlock glared at her. "Her coat is damp. She's been in the rain in the last few hours, but there's been no rain in London all that time. Her coat collar is wet too, so she's turned it up against the wind. Her umbrella is unused, so the wind was too strong to use it. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay somewhere, but not too far away because her coat is still damp from rain 2 to 3 hours previously. So where has there been rain in the past few hours?"

"Cardiff," Amy finished for him. "That was brilliant."

"You keep saying that out loud."

"Oh, sorry," she said, turning a little red.

"No, no, it's fine," Sherlock said with a hint of something she could have sworn was a smile.

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?"

"Small splash backs on the back of her legs," Sherlock said. "And who's Rachel?"

"Rachel?" Amy asked, puzzled. "Is that what the note is?"

Sherlock gave a small nod. "There wasn't a case," Lestrade said.

"What?"

"The case, there wasn't one."

Amy looked at Sherlock, who stood up slowly, before rushing out of the room. "They chew, swallow, take the pills themselves!"

"So what?" she shouted after him.

"Come on, there are things even you lot can't miss!"

"Yeah thanks!" Lestrade shouted. "And?"

Sherlock turned to look at them. "There not suicides. They're killings. I don't know how, I have no idea, but they're murders, all of them. I love serial killers, they're so fun!"

Amy looked at him in shock. "How on Earth could you possibly know that?"

"Her case! Where's her case? She didn't eat it! Someone must have been here with her, and taken the case!"

"She could have left it in her hotel!" Lestrade said.

"No, she has to make sure everything matches," Amy said. "She wouldn't have left the hotel with her hair like that."

She heard Sherlock give a small sigh. "Oh," he said. "Houston we have a mistake! Serial killers, they always make them, but we're done waiting, we have one. Get on to Cardiff, find out who Melody Williams' family and friends were." He started walking down the stairs. "Find Rachel!"

"What mistake?" she shouted down to him.

"Pink!"

And with that, he was gone.

**A/N: Hope it was worth the wait! I'll update again very soon, promise! Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Told you I'd be back real quick! Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**Amy:**

She sprinted down the stairs after Sherlock, dropping the overcoat on the floor. She ran outside, looking in both direction but he was nowhere to be seen.

"He's gone," she heard someone say. She turned around to see the same blonde-haired woman who had stopped her before. "You won't catch him now and you never will. Sherlock Holmes is a dangerous man. You think you're his friend, but you're not. He doesn't have friends." Amy felt anger rise inside her, but before she could say anything, the woman turned on the spot and walked away. Who was she to talk about that amazing man like that? Sure he sounded stuck up some of the time, but the way he just picked up everything and seemed to understand her was just, well, brilliant.

She started walking towards the main street when there was the sound of a phone ringing. She turned and saw the red telephone box. She just shook her head and continued walking and eventually getting to the high street. She missed the taxi that was waiting at the rank and was going to call Sherlock when she heard another phone ring. She looked to her right to see another phone, nothing special. Except it was ringing like the one in the phone box. She bit her lip unsure of what to do, so she just walked on. She had barely gone a hundred yards when another phone rang. She rolled her eyes, looking around the street, but no one seemed to notice the phone. She walked into the booth and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"There is a security camera on the building to your left," a man's voice said. "Do you see it?" She was totally confused.

"Who is this? Who's speaking?"

"Do you see the camera Miss Pond?" How did they know her name? She looked to her left and there was the camera.

"Yeah, I see it."

"Watch," the man said. The camera moved. "There is another camera on the building opposite, do you see it?" She turned and saw the other camera. "And finally at the top of the building on your right."

She was being watched from all angles. "How are you doing this?"

"Get into the car, Miss Pond," the man drawled. "I would make some kind of threat, but I'm sure your position is quite clear to you." A car pulled up and the driver got out, opening a door. She placed the phone back in the holder. She was a little scared but her legs disobeyed her mind as she got into the car. The lights of the city flashed past her as she sat in the car. Apart from the driver, there was a woman sat next to her, texting on her phone.

"Hello," Amy said, trying to make conversation.

"Hi," the woman replied.

"What's your name?"

The woman paused. "Uh, Anthea."

"Is that your real name?"

"No," she said, giving a quick smile.

"I'm Amy."

"Yes, I know," she said, not taking her eyes off her phone. Amy just found this rude. She stared ahead.

"Any point in asking where I'm going?"

"None at all." This was the answer she expected. The rest of the journey passed in silence until they pulled into a warehouse. She got out of the car, and saw a smartly dressed man leaning on an umbrella.

"Have a seat Amy," the man said. It was the same voice from the phone.

She walked cautiously towards him. "You know, I've got a phone. Very clever and all that but you could just phone me." She didn't sit down, just stood opposite the man.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place," the man gestured with the umbrella. "Take a seat."

"I don't want to sit down," she said, feeling annoyed that some posh bloke was being so patronizing.

The man just gave a smirk. "You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening."

The man laughed. "Yes, the bravery of the traveller. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one," she said. "I barely know him. I met him yesterday."

The man smiled again. "And since yesterday you've moved in with him and solved crimes with him. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep red with anger. Who was this guy to mock her?

"Who are you?"

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has? I'm the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having. An enemy."

"An enemy?"

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

"Well thank god you're above all that," she said rolling her eyes. Her phone beeped. She reached in her jacket pocket. _Baker Street. Come at once if convenient – SH. _

"I hope I'm not distracting you?"

She put the phone back in her pocket. "Not distracting me at all."

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I, er, could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business."

"It could be."

"It really couldn't," she sneered.

"If you do move in," the man said, reaching in his jacket pocket, "to 221B Baker Street, I'll be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"Why?"

"Because you're not a wealthy young woman."

"Says who?"

He ignored her."In exchange for information. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?" she repeated, gritting her teeth.

"I worry about him. Constantly."

"That's nice of you."

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concerns go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship."

Her phone beeped again. _If inconvenient come anyway –SH_. "No."

"But I haven't mentioned a figure!"

"Don't bother."

He laughed. "Your very loyal, very quickly Miss Pond."

"No I'm not," she said quickly. "I'm just not interested."

The man brought out his notebook again. "Trust issues, it says here."

"What's that?"

"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?" she said, folding her arms.

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

She was fed up. "Are we done?"

The man gave her a piercing stare. "You tell me." She turned to walk away. "I imagine many people have already told you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." She stopped and gritted her teeth again.

"My what?"

"Show me."

She held it up in front of her. The man walked over and went to grab it.

"Don't." she growled taking her hand away. He raised his eyebrows, and she brought her hand forward again. He studied it for a split second.

"Remarkable."

"What is?"

"Most people blunder round this city. They see streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already haven't you?"

"I don't know." And she didn't. "What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist doesn't know what to think apart from that you're haunted by the memories of times past."

"Who the hell are you," she said angrily. "How do you know all that?"

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by your past Miss Pond, you miss it," he paused. "Welcome back." He walked off, swinging the umbrella. Her phone beeped again. "Time to choose a side Miss Pond!" She heard footsteps behind her.

"Time to take you home," Anthea said. Amy reached into her pocket. _Could be dangerous –SH. _She smiled and looked at her hand.

"Address?"

"Baker Street," Amy said, grinning. "221B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first."

She opened her flat door, going over to her bedside table and pulling open a drawer. She pulled her laptop out of it and closed it. Her gaze fell on the pistol next to her bed. She bit her lip. Could she really use it? She just kept it there as protection, always scared that one of these days, her nightmares would come true. She often woke up, finding herself clutching the pistol, the safety still on of course. But, if things got dangerous with Sherlock Holmes, she would feel safer with it. She tucked the gun in the inside of her jacket and quickly left the flat.

The car pulled up at the flat. "Listen. Your boss; could you not tell him this is where I went?"

"Sure."

"You've told him already haven't you?"

"Yeah."

Amy opened the door, stepping out and up to the door of 221B Baker Street.

**Sherlock:**

He placed another nicotine patch on his arm, feeling suddenly relaxed. He heard Amelia come up the stairs and enter the room. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nicotine patches. They help me think." She just rolled her eyes and sat down.

"Why are you wearing three?"

He didn't expect her to understand, not with her head filled with dreams and worry. "It's a three patch problem."

A few moments passed, and he lay in thought, several of them running around in his head, until Amelia interrupted him. "Well, you asked me to come here, I assume it was important," she said, the annoyance apparent.

"Oh I want to borrow your phone!"

"My phone? Jackie has a phone. I was the other side of London!"

"My number is on the website, always a chance it could be recognised."

He closed his eyes again, until Amelia dropped the phone on his chest. His eyes flashed open and he scowled.

"So what's this about? The case?" she asked him.

"Her case. Her suitcase. The murderer took her suitcase, his first big mistake."

"Ok, so what if he took her case?"

"There's no other way, we'll have to risk it," he said, more to himself than to Amelia. "On my desk there's a number, I want you to send a text"

"Why can't you do it," she said, frowning. He shot her a look and she went over to the desk. "You dragged me all the way back here, just to send a text. I hate you."

"No you don't the number on my desk please."

He saw Amelia walk over to the window. "I just met a friend of yours."

"A friend?"

"An enemy."

"Oh, which one?"

"Your arch enemy according to him. Do people have arch enemies?"

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

"Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now. On the desk, the number!"

He heard her pick the piece of paper up. "Melody Williams? But that's the dead woman isn't it?"

"Yes, but that's not important. Type in the number." She obliged. "Now these words exactly: _What happened at Lauresten Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street, please come."_

He got up and picked the pink case from the chair. Amelia put the phone back in her pocket and turned around, her eyes widening when she saw what he had just unzipped and rifled through. "But…but that's her case. That's Melody Williams' case, the dead woman."

"Well obviously." He sensed some kind of tension in the air. "Oh I suppose I should mention, I didn't kill her," he said, annoyed.

"I never said you did."

"Why not? Considering the text I just made you send, the fact I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

Amelia just kept the same blank look on her face. "Do people usually assume you're the murderer? 'Cos for all I know, I might be sharing a flat with a serial killer with really good alibis."

"Now and then, yes. I could give you a perfectly good reason as to why I'm not a killer, but it would waste precious time."

She sat down in the armchair opposite him. "Okay, how did you get this?"

"I found it."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauresten Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. No body could be seen with this case without being noticed, especially a man which is statistically more likely so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he found out he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake," he said all of this quickly, not caring if Amelia failed to keep up. "I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauresten Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being seen. It took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"You got all that from the fact the case was pink?"

"Well it had to be pink, obviously," he said.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Amelia said, sarcastically he was guessing.

"Because you're an idiot," he said. If looks could kill, he would be dust. "No, no, no don't be like that, practically everyone is."

"Dinner?" she said sarcastically.

"You're big on the sarcasm thing aren't you?" he said, giving her a small smile.

"It's the only way to put people like you in their place," she said, grinning at him. He rolled his eyes at her, but he laughed as well. He liked Amelia; she was funny and witty. He'd never really thought of anyone as attractive before, but he guessed that was what he thought about her when she smiled. She was a soldier battling on, not looking back because she dare not.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I've finished school for 6 weeks so hopefully I shall be posting a lot more regularly. Thank you for the reviews, follows and favourites, they make the whole thing worth it! Enjoy!**

**Amy:**

She got up and walked into the kitchen, picking up some cups from the table. As the kettle boiled she thought. She knew she was getting herself into something here. Here was this strange, intelligent, good looking man that she had met only a day before and already she was flirting with him and looking at dead bodies, solving crimes. She wanted to be a part of it even if he told her to stay at the flat. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in all her life as far as she could remember and she wasn't going to give it up. She already felt comfortable around Sherlock, but as that woman had said, was she really his friend? They were in the same boat; alone with no one to understand them. So if they were both like that, why couldn't they be friends? He was the only person that seemed to understand her, deducing more about her in a day than her psychiatrist had done in a year. She watched Sherlock as he placed the tips of his fingers under his chin, deep in thought.

"What's missing from the case?"

She drew her attention the suitcase. "I don't know I didn't pack it."

He ignored her this time. "Her phone. Where's her phone? There was no phone on the body, no phone in the case. We know she had a phone, that's her number there, you just texted it."

Amy cut him off. "Maybe she left it at home!" walking in with the two mugs of tea.

"She had a string of lovers and was careful about it, she never leaves her phone at home," he said before taking a sip of the tea. Amy watched him and then something in her mind seemed to click. She set the mug down on the table.

"Hold on. Why did I just send that text?"

He just gave a little smirk. "Well, the question is; where is phone is now?"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or?" he paused. Amy's eyes widened.

"The murderer! You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case, maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance and probability is, the murderer has the phone."

She just shook her head. "Sorry, did I just text a murderer?" she almost shouted, he Scottish accent thickening slightly. "What good will that do!" As soon as she got the words out of her mouth, her phone rang. She just picked it up, not taking her eyes off Sherlock.

"A few hours after his last victim, he receives a text that can only be from her. If someone had just found that phone they'd ignore it but the murderer," he paused. "Would panic!" He snapped the case shut, making her jump a little. She just sat staring at the phone.

"Did you talk to the police?" He pulled on his jacket.

"Four people are dead there isn't time to talk to the police!" he said.

"So why are you talking to me!"

"Jackie took my skull," he said, putting on his coat. She laughed.

"So I'm filling in for your skull?"

"Relax you're doing fine!"

**Sherlock:**

"Well?" he said.

"Well what?" she replied.

"You could just sit there and watch telly, do your hair, drink tea or do whatever you girls do of an evening."

"What you want me to come with you?" she said, her voice brightening up.

"I like company when I'm out and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention."

She laughed, and he blushed a little. It wasn't because he was embarrassed, he just found her laugh very… well, _nice_. It was the kind of laugh that lit up a room and he liked it.

He tried to cover it up. "Problem?"

"Yeah, this woman at the crime scene."

"What about her?"

"She said you're not to be trusted."

He smirked a little. "And I said 'dangerous' and here you are," he said, and turned his back on Amelia and walked down the stairs. He was finding more and more about these murders and it was exciting. Oh how he loved a good murder. Or three.

He walked swiftly through the streets of London, hearing Amelia's footsteps quicken as she tried to keep up. Theories kept going through his mind a lightning pace, only pausing to think a little more about one or another.

"So where are we going?" Amelia asked.

"Northumberland Street is a five minute walk from here," he replied, going for one of his most liked theories.

"What you think he's stupid enough to go there?" Amelia said, doing a little jog to finally catch Sherlock up.

"No- I think he's brilliant enough." He said, glancing at Amelia and smirking. "I love the brilliant ones they're all so desperate to get caught!"

"Why? I mean if you're a murderer surely you want to escape?"

"Ah, Amelia, they want attention! Applause! At last a turn in the spotlight! The failure of genius Amelia is that it needs the spotlight! This is his hunting ground right here in the heart of the city! Now that we know his victims were abducted that changes everything, because all of his victims were from busy streets, crowded places but no one saw them go!" he said quickly, his mind working faster than his mouth. "Think!" he shouted, seeing Amelia jump slightly. ""Who do we trust that we don't know and who goes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

"I don't know, who?"

"Haven't the faintest! Hungry?"

**Amy:**

She rolled her eyes. This was exciting, but she gathered that it was going to be a battle getting to know this man. A man who was verging on impossibly intelligent, reminding her of someone, someone who was a memory that she couldn't quite see. Something that had been in the back of her mind for almost a year now. And now this man was practically asking her to dinner, an offer which she couldn't refuse. They walked into a small Italian restaurant, which was almost empty.

"22 Northumberland Street, keep your eyes on it," Sherlock said.

"He's not gonna just ring the doorbell. You'd have to be mad," Amy replied, taking her jacket off and setting it behind her.

"He has killed four people," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes fixed on the street outside. The bloke at the counter walked over to Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" the man said. "Anything you want off the menu, free of charge on the house for you and your date."

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked, but Amy wasn't concerned about that.

"I'm not his date," she said. At least she hoped it wasn't a date.

"This man got me off a murder charge!" the waiter said, ignoring her and instead shaking her hand.

"Amelia, this is Angelo. Three years ago I proved to Lestrade that he couldn't have been involved in a murder because he was on the opposite side of the city, housebreaking."

"He cleared my name," Angelo said.

"I cleared it a bit." Sherlock said, still not taking his eyes off the street. "Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing," Angelo said. "But if it wasn't for this man I would have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison," Sherlock pointed out.

"I'll get a candle for the table, small and romantic," Angelo said.

"I'm not his date!" Amy said, annoyed. Sherlock placed his menu to one side.

"You might as well eat, we could be here for some time," Sherlock said. It was only then that she realised how hungry she was. She could see Sherlock tapping impatiently on the table, his eyes still fixed on the street.

"People don't have arch enemies," Amy said.

"Sorry?"

"In real life. People don't have arch enemies," she repeated. "So who did I meet?"

He ignored her. "What do people have then in their 'real lives'?"

"Friends. You know, people they know, people they like or don't like, girlfriends, boyfriends," Amy tailed off.

"As I was saying, dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend then?"

"No, its not my area?"

"What? Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine by the way."

"I know its fine. And no, I don't."

"You're unattached like me," Amy muttered. There was a pause.

"Amy, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest-"

Amy almost choked on her drink. "What? No, no, that wasn't what I was saying," she said, feeling herself turn a little red.

**A/N2: Important part next chapter! Hope you liked it, please review/favourite/follow! **


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